


What you need

by all_4_feels



Series: Mornings of inevitability [1]
Category: True Detective
Genre: 1995, Adultery, Angst, Bisexual Marty, Bisexual Rust, Child Death, Choking, Coming Untouched, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Repressed, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, Hypersensitivity, Insomnia, M/M, Men Crying, POV First Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Rust's POV, Shower Sex, Slash, Smut, Spit As Lube, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27701726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_4_feels/pseuds/all_4_feels
Summary: One morning in the locker room, my own mind starts catching with me again. Instead of beating me up for pointing out an error in his post-coital hygiene, Marty offers to give me what I need.
Relationships: Rustin "Rust" Cohle & Martin "Marty" Hart, Rustin "Rust" Cohle/Martin "Marty" Hart
Series: Mornings of inevitability [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036452
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	1. What happens in the locked room

It's been building for some time now. My daughter's birthday, the dinner at the Harts, the sleepless nights. Then one morning in the locker room I can't seem to be able to keep my tongue in check. Usually I can, despite Marty's misconception. He's got _no idea_ how often I stop weird shit from flying out of my mouth. I mean, I think those things _all the time_. It's like an endless broadcast. 

All the same, I make a comment about the stale, frankly repugnant whiff of old liquor and pussy wafting from Marty's person that so _blatantly_ is not from a nice night at home with his wife... and in the next minute he's got me pinned up against the lockers, with his fists clenched in the front of my undershirt and my own hands curled around his... and suddenly it's everything that I've ever needed. He's making some kind of threat, as a man is wont to do when being confronted about his cheating, but I can't comprehend a word he's saying because all I can think about is how badly I want to get out of the situation, and how badly I want for him to keep holding on to me at the same time. 

"The hell's wrong with you," Marty's hissing at me, letting go of me then, and I sink down to the bench beneath with my hands held above my head to shield myself. And all of a sudden, I am _stuck_ , my whole body starting to shake like a leaf. The words are out of my mouth before I've even realized that they've formed on my tongue, or had a chance to swallow them back. "J-just... just keep me pressed like that." Marty takes a step back from me then. "... Huh?" I can practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he's trying to wrap his mind around what I've just said. Hell, I can't make sense of the jumble of emotions that's suddenly taken over me, either. 

"The fuck you on about, Rust," Marty asks at last, his voice wavering a little now with the surprise and uncertainty, clearly at a loss as to what to do as flashes of my dead Sophia fill my vision. Suddenly there are tears prickling into my eyes. Oh, _Jesus_. Desperate to hide my shame, I cover my face with my hands, curling in on myself on the bench. I'm not in control of myself anymore. "P-please..." The word is pathetically weak as it leaves my lips, yet startlingly deafening in the confined, stagnant silence of the room. 

That seems to finally get Marty's alarm bells ringing. "Y-you alright, Rust," he stammers, his anger having being completely replaced by concern. I can hear him shuffling towards the aisle, presumably to check whether there is anyone else in the room, before returning to me and lowering himself slowly onto his knees in front of me, making himself small. Marty's a goddamn idiot most of the time, but at least he knows how to talk to and behave around people, and not only how to make _them_ talk to _him_. He knows how to make himself appear harmless and unthreatening in a way that makes people _like_ him, and it's the one significant upper hand that he has over me. However, in spite of his effort I find myself unable to respond to him. "W-what-," he tries again, clearing his throat, uncomfortable as ever. "What did you say again? Y-you gotta talk to me, man." 

"I-... don't wanna talk about it," I manage to grit through my teeth, moving my hands enough to see the man in front of me. Marty seems utterly taken aback by the hot, fat tears pooling in my eyes and trickling down my cheeks. "... Okay," he starts again after a trepid silence. "Well... You gotta tell me what I can do. I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need." His voice is soft and quiet, patient even, a stark contrast to the hostility from only a moment ago, and I find myself struggling hard to produce the words that he's after, failing nonetheless. I've already told once what I need, and for some unfathomable reason I can't seem to be able to bring myself to say it out aloud again. Fortunately I don't have to, because apparently Marty Hart doesn't have a five second memory, after all. "You... you said that you want me to... what? Keep you pressed," he asks slowly, hesitantly reaching out with one hand. "W-what's that mean?" 

I can see the outstretched, offered hand for what it is. 'Would you show me?' I know that it seems a little desperate, but I'm already past any kind of shame as I quickly grasp a hold of it, bringing it to my neck before I can think too much about it. I watch Marty's azure eyes grow wide and dark in shock and recognition as I arrange his big, thick fingers around the slim length of my throat, pressing his warm, meaty palm against my esophagus. Once I'm finished, I meet his gaze with as much assertiveness as I can muster. He let's out a choked gasp, as though he's been holding his breath this entire time. "You-... you want _this_ ," he stutters, tightening his hold on me for a fraction, for I allow it. "You sure?" 

Battling to tolerate the normally unwelcome sense of panic that now sends a jolt of arousal down to my groin, I give a firm nod. I know that my body's natural demand for flight is visible in my eyes, and so I force myself to speak the word out loud. "Please." I then lick my lips. I know that Marty can be slow, but not with this kind of thing. I can see from his dilated pupils, his quickened breathing that he knows exactly what we're talking about here, and that he's willing. And I know that he knows from the way I open up, the way I surrender completely under his touch that I know what I want, what I'm asking for. "... Okay," he whispers at last, his voice hoarse, and then clears his throat, as he has a tendency to do whenever out of his depth. "But you gotta show me how." 

Holding Marty's deep sea gaze, I start to slowly stand up from the bench, my back sliding against the locker. His hand falls off my neck, but he doesn't make a move to follow me, seemingly content to stare at me from the floor. He's kind of a comical sight, with his ruffled blonde hair, open light blue dress shirt and the black tie hanging on his shoulders. I contemplate the possibilities, but quickly dismiss the thought. It has to be his skin against mine. Passing my hand over my tear-streaked face in as casually a manner as possible, I step past him and walk towards the shower room, opening my belt on the way and letting my trousers drop down to my feet, stepping out of them. Next is the turn for my undershirt and briefs to fly onto the concrete. Stopping at the doorway, I turn to look at Marty who's still gaping at me from his crouched position, jaw hanging somewhere on the level with his knees. "Go bar the door," I tell him, a little amused, entering the showers. 


	2. Fifteen minutes

When Marty steps into the showers approximately three minutes, a ton of curse words and a hell of a racket later, I can hear him gasp at the sight of me standing completely naked on the other side of the room, facing the wall with my arms and legs spread. The bright, white tile feels smooth and cool beneath my calloused fingertips, my whole body covered in goose flesh in the chill air. I absolutely detest the cold, and it's fucking perfect. "What if someone tries to enter," Marty asks, walking slowly over to me, the echo of his voice drowning out his soft footfalls that are quiet for a man of his stature and build. "They're gonna know that the door's barred from the inside." In his question I can hear the bogeyman that's left unnamed. 'They're gonna know what we're doing here'. I shake my head in negative, shivering a little as I feel him come up to me, the heat of his skin radiating off to my own even from a meter away. "Nah, it's almost ten. No-one's gonna start their shift at this hour, unless they're as late as us. Besides, we're not gonna be here for long." 

There's a sudden rush of air and a clap of skin against skin, and I can picture Marty throwing his hands up in acknowledged defeat. "So... What do you want me to do," he asks at long last. I can hear him shifting his weight nervously from one foot to another. I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. "I want you to press me into this wall and rub yourself off against my ass." There's that shocked gasp and widened eyes again. Any pitiable excuses about heterosexuality won't work here, though. We both know that he's been ready to go ever since he saw me undress. I hold his pale blue gaze, daring him to challenge me, which he doesn't. "... Okay," he finally states instead, if a little tentatively, closing the rest of the distance between us. "H-how... how should I hold you? Y-you don't wanna do this face to face?" 

"Nah, it's too much," I reply a little shakily, the fine hairs on my skin rising to stand at attention as Marty enters my space, not quite yet touching. "Sensory overload. I can't concentrate on the feeling if I'm looking at you." He lets out a non-committal utter, as though to let me know that he understands without explanation what the hell I'm talking about, even though we both know that he doesn't. And how could he? "Well... will you tell me how to touch you, then?" Finally his large hands come to rest upon my bony, narrow hips, the wet tip of his erection poking against the back of my thigh. "J-just grab me by the back of my neck and hold me against the wall," I gasp, shivering at the contact, his palms like two huge iron brands on my goose-pimpled flesh. "I think you know the drill from there, Marty." 

Fortunately Marty's instincts seem to indeed kick in then as one of his hands lets go of my hip to curl itself around my nape, pushing my head slowly, almost _reverently_ into the wall. "Is... is this okay? Y-you sure you want this," he asks still, not applying any force yet. "You asked me what I need," I whisper gruffly, giving a small nod, my voice getting a little caught in my throat. "This is what I need." Marty's fingers stink of his last night's lay, but I honestly couldn't care less. The pressure is absolutely perfect as he tightens his grip upon my encouragement. His palm is warm and sweaty, and wide enough to cover the whole of the back of my neck, the blunt, rough tips of his digits digging into the soft tissue between the strings of my shifting muscles. 

Sufficiently grounded and satisfied, I let my eyes fall shut, barely registering as Marty lets go of my waist to spit into his hand, and then there is the slick sound of flesh against wet flesh before his fingers skip upon my backside, spreading my cheeks apart. Pushing my hips back, offering myself up, I then feel the hot, hard length of his thick cock brush against the damp crease between my buttocks. "Ohhh _fuck_ , Rust," Marty gasps in tandem with the slow slide, as though he has needed this just as much as I have. Releasing my ass, he then reaches out to wrap one strong around my middle, pulling me into the solid warmth of his body, before stilling. "... You okay?" Nodding quickly in affirmative, I let out a breath that I didn't even know that I've been holding. 

Then Marty starts to move, and it's everything that I've needed. One of his big hands' got me pinned up against the wall while the other holds me against his cock that keeps rubbing hard and fast into the crease of my ass, every now and then getting caught on the rim of my anus. I find myself almost wishing that he would just push his way in, just like that. Marty's huffing and groaning behind me, the noises going straight to my own leaking dick that bobs between my legs in the rhythm of his thrusts, giving me tiny shocks that only add to my pleasure as it brushes against the cold tile. The smooth surface has warmed up beneath my palms as I keep them voluntarily pressed flat against it. It doesn't even cross my mind to reach down to touch myself. I've got _Marty_ fucking _Hart_ grinding me into a shower wall. I don't need anything more anymore. 

Just as I had estimated, it doesn't take long until I feel my balls drawing up to my body. Marty's grunting my name, clutching the back of my neck with both hands now as he's grinding hard between my buttocks from a new, more vertical angle that rubs against my sensitive perineum in the most delicious way. It was a little too dry at first, the friction, even after Marty had added more saliva, but I have never minded a bit of pain, anyway, and now he's producing enough precome that my ass shouldn't feel too dissimilar to the pussy that he's had last night. 

On a particularly harsh thrust Marty looses his grip on me and attempts to fix it, ending up choking me, by accident no doubt, but all the same it's got me suddenly going off like a gun, shooting rope after rope of thick, white semen onto the floor and the wall in front of us. A long, heartfelt moan is torn from my lips as Marty's hands fall off my neck to grasp my hips instead, steadying my shaking form as the feeling of absolute euphoria washes over me. "Ohhh fuuuck, Rust," he groans loudly behind me, pressing his damp forehead between my shoulder blades as he rams in a few more times before spurting as well, covering my ass and the small of my back with his hot seed. It goes on like that for a good few minutes as the pleasure keeps on coming for the both of us, wave after wave. 

"Thank you," I whisper when Marty finally steps away from me, leaving me standing against the wall with my eyes still closed, basking in the temporary void that has settled upon my mind. My body throbs and aches in the most pleasurable way, the tremors from my orgasm still running through it. "No problem," he grunts back after a beat. I can hear him shuffle on his feet, hesitating for a moment before padding slowly towards the showerheads. " _Fuck_ that was hot, Rust. Coming like that..." I give a faint nod, letting out an approving hum. A small, involuntary smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. "We better get going before your ass gets whooped by more than just my huge dick," Marty calls from across the room, turning on the loud spray. Just like that, the illusion is broken, and I put on the mask once more. 

Once we get out of the shower, I check the time from my watch. I haven't thought about my daughter for fifteen minutes. 


End file.
